


Houston, we have a problem

by Niullum



Series: Chill, I've got a spreadsheet [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Dimension travel (implied), Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, POV Tim Drake, Surprise Ending, Temporary Character Death, Tim Drake-centric, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niullum/pseuds/Niullum
Summary: Gotham city is under attack and sometimes, one has to make a sacrifice in order to protect the people you love with all your heart.Tim hoped his family could one day forgive him for doing this. But life has it’s strange turns and unexpected ways...in showing that sometimes?Even the best ideas can go astray.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Tim Drake
Series: Chill, I've got a spreadsheet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961050
Comments: 26
Kudos: 253
Collections: Series that I want to read once they are complete





	Houston, we have a problem

**Author's Note:**

> This is sorta the prequel of a dimension travel! secretary tim! fic I'm working on. I do not know when I will finish the rest of the secretary Tim fic (I'm halfway done), but meanwhile have this.
> 
> TW: temporary character death. Life-threatening wound, description of injuries. Gotham city is under attack by an army of killing androids, and there's a lot of destruction going on. Tim's mind is not exactly the healthiest so yeah, there's that.

_Code Red. Intermission with Red Robin has ceased. I repeat. Intermission with Red Robin has ceased. We’re emitting a signal to see if the emergency tracker is still working. Batman has demanded a change of strategy._

_Nightwing, we need you to deviate to the left and seek the last location of Red._

_Tracking operation starting in three, two, one..._

* * *

The first thing most people do when there’s an emergency is panic. Yeah, the famous flight or fright response. A natural mechanism every human possesses when they feel threatened or are under attack.

Having an army of android attack the city you love can do that to you. The thing was, no one knew where they came from, who sent them, or how they appeared. One morning they did, and it quickly derailed from there since they hadn’t been able to stop them.

When it finally hit the news, the public didn’t react well. The panic and fear spread like wildfire. People committed more crimes by stealing whatever they could find. Which Tim didn’t blame them for, since panic can make you do lots of crazy things, and if people thought this was the end of the world—completely justified if you took in the dramatic context—that meant more work for the rest of the team.

And these androids? They were _ruthless_ , sparing no hesitancy whatsoever in destroying every living thing they stumbled into. The city suffered significantly from their attacks.

Now Gotham looked like one of those crappy apocalypses movies Jason was so fond of; buildings half-way collapsed and covered under layers of debris, streets blocked by cars turnovers, houses left abandoned with just the barest traces that people once lived here.

After four days of constant fighting, there wasn’t much they could do. These androids differed from any previous Tim had fought in the past. They were not only faster but could adapt to every strategy Bruce implemented.

Tim had concluded that whoever made them must have a deep grasp on technological artifacts because even Barbara hadn’t been able to understand the basics of the complex and secured software.

Every attempt had ended the same.

The prognostic was so grim that Bruce had forbidden them to speak about it. His fist tightened when Tim remembered in what state Bruce had returned yesterday.

He’d gripped Tim’s hands and offered him a smile. _Don’t worry, Tim_ , Bruce repeated, looking more tired, distraught, and aged up after another wave had set loose over town.

_Don’t worry, Tim._

_We’ll solve it_.

But yesterday grip was fainter, looser, and weaker than the usual which was driving Tim crazy because he _knew_ that Bruce was working himself to death trying to solve this. The rest of the family wasn’t much better, and Tim was so tired, and so freaking exhausted, every piece of his body _ached_.

Tim wanted it to stop.

He couldn’t remember when was the last time he had a good night of sleep without having a nightmare. If his intel was correct, this would be the last day an android would hurt someone.

Tim pressed a button inside his vest and a jumbled of static-ridden sounds and distorted shouts echoed through the line. He winced and pushed another button, and soon enough he heard a faint but barely familiar voice spoke in the static.

 _“Red Robin, There’s a fresh wave of androids around Park Row,_ ” it spoke rapidly. “ _Casualties have risen up to fifteen civilians. Where are you?”_

“Oracle,” Tim replied easily, ignoring the tingly feeling that something was wrong in the picture. He averted his eyes to his surroundings in his effort to see if something was lurking, but everything seemed normal.

He frowned.

“I’m four blocks away from Park Row,” He stated, and then swallowed when he saw a building on fire. “I noticed there’s a signal interference in a building near there, so I’m going to investigate. Tell Nightwing that I’ll be there in ten. How's Robin?”

Two seconds later an explosion detonated.

His back painfully collided against a wall, knocking the wind out of him.

 _“Red Robin?”_ came the faint voice of Oracle. _“Red Robin is everything alright? Red Robin, I need you to respond. Red Robin..._ ”

* * *

The first thing that came to his mind once Tim opened his eyes was _ouch._ A moan escaped his lips when his brain finally powered up to notice where he was and what had happened. He shut his eyes tightly because every inch of part of him _hurt_.

What _was that_ sound in his ear?

Tim hissed out, covering with one hand his ear, in the hopes it could block the ringing sound. To his displeasure, the sound did not stop. _Focus_ , Tim thought as he scanned his surroundings, somewhat disoriented. It took a while for his eyes to adjust and much more for him to finally stagger up to his feet. His legs trembled with every step, making his breath itch due to the pain.

And there was something wet in his chest. Tim glanced down and paled when he saw the blood running freely from his suit. Blood, so much blood it was making his head hurt. He pressed a pale hand to his abdomen and hissed.

* * *

There was a big chance Tim wouldn’t make it out alive, and strangely so, Tim was okay with that.

 _This is fine_ , Tim thought as he finally reached the corresponding floor, and cracked open the reinforced door’s password. The door automatically slided open, leaving to the naked eye the room Tim must search.

This was fine.

Perfectly fine.

Tim knew it was _fine,_ totally ignoring how labored his breathing was or how his hand’s palms were profusely sweaty. He inspected the room as his hand made pressure on the wound, but that didn’t prevent dark blood seeping. It was small and plain, so much that Tim had the feeling Dick has a better taste. At least Dick _tried_. The nightwing photos were proof Dick had _improved_.

Five minutes later he found what he was looking for; the computer responsible for ⅔ of the city’s current destruction.

 _Bingo_ he muttered and started decoding. While he was not the best in cracking and hacking, working under pressure worked best for him. As long as he finished deactivating the software running on the computer to stop another wave of killing drones from attacking the city _(almost)_ everything will return to normal. Well, sort of. Tim had the suspicion the major will not be happy about reconstructing the city _again_.

But then again, this was Gotham we’re speaking of. He took a deep breath and kept working, blocking every urge to tell the rest of the team what was happening and how he wouldn’t be able to go to movie night on Friday.

_That he’s sorry. So sorry for doing this and he hopes they’ll understand._

Tim wished so hard there could be another solution, another opportunity, another _something_ that didn’t involve this. But every minute was crucial and Tim needed to hurry. Time was running out, and they’ve already lost one of them

Tim was not willing to sacrifice another member.

His life was a small price to pay.

* * *

In the end, Tim called them to say goodbye.

At the count of three, Tim reached out to activate the comm resting in his ear, ignoring how his trembling fingers struggled to cooperate. Another sign of blood loss (it should worry Tim, it hurts so _freaking bad_ ). The static and dreaded silence got replaced by a mix of shouts and quick orders, accompanied by the wistful voice of Oracle giving directions and orders. A familiar sound that made Tim release a breath he didn’t know he'd been holding.

 _Robin on your left, twelve o’clock. Three more robots coming in your direction Nightwing_! _Red Hood, there’s a civilian trapped under the rubble_ , _proceed with caution. Superman has stopped responding to our signal. I repeat, Superman has stopped responding. There's interference with the League’s headquarters signal. We will proceed with plan B. Metropolis is also under attack._

_New signal coming through._

A pause before Oracle (she’ll never forgive him for doing this, Tim realized, they already lost Stephanie half an hour ago and the mere memory of her hurts) asked _Red Robin?_

“Affirmative,” Tim whispered and his breath got caught in his throat when the multiple voices replied he knew and loved, replied all rushed at once.

_Red Robin?_

_Babybird!_

_Replacement where the fuck did you go?_

_It was about time for you to answer Drake; we were getting bored with your incompetence._

_What happened?_

“I’m okay,” Tim said, hiding the wince when he had to crouch down to make the final touches. _Don’t look down_ , he thought while smashing combinations and whatever number could pop in his head.

He was getting _weaker_.

It hurt to even breathe.

 _“Tim._ ”

A small string of curses left Tim’s mouth when he heard the familiar voice of Bruce. The last person Tim wanted to deal with.

_“Are you okay? You haven’t turned on your vitals.”_

And Tim briefly stalled.

“I’m okay B’,” Tim croaked out because he knew deep inside that as soon as Tim turned on the switch in his suit that tracked his vitals the plan would go awry. They can’t interfere. He must do it alone. Tim gulped and in a moment of regret, he added. “Hey, Bruce?”

_“Yes, Tim?”_

Tim stopped typing and hoped _they_ (Dick, Damian, Jason, Bruce, Barbara, Cass, everyone) will someday forgive him for doing this. The screen lights up. “I lo-” He stopped himself and shook his head.

No need to get emotional.

_Focus._

“Goodbye, B.”

* * *

There were whispers. Ushered and annoying whispers Tim wanted them to cease. He shut his eyes harder but the constant _beep beep!_ Sound was getting on his nerves and ugh, no one told him afterlife would be this _loud_.

Out of habit, Tim swatted whatever _hellish_ thing was making that sound (he just _died_ , give him a goddamn break) only to hear a surprised gasp. That caught his attention and to his reluctance, he opened his eyes _slowly_. Out of the things Tim had pictured waking up in heaving (or hell) a nurse was not one of them.

Or a hospital.

Which only means one thing: he _survived_. Multiple questions came to his head. Where was he? It couldn't be Gotham General Hospital it was one of the first thing that got destroyed during the first wave and-

“Hello, Mr. Drake,” she said. Under any other circumstances, Tim would have opened his mouth and corrected it. _Drake-Wayne._ He’d changed his last names _years_ ago, under Bruce’s blessings.

She smiled.

“You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

“As if someone put a hole in my abdomen,” Tim said and the nurse chuckled before writing something in the chart.

“Yes, that’s what happens when you get a bullet wound Mr. Drake,” He blinked at that piece of information. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been a bullet wound. It was more of like _a explosion detonated and something cut me_. “You’re lucky your employer found you so quickly or else this could have been a different situation.”

 _What employer_ Tim wanted to ask because last time he checked he still was the CEO of Wayne’s enterprises, unless Bruce did something.

Then the nurse came closer and whispered, almost as if she was gossiping. “I didn’t know Mr. Wayne, of all people, knew about first aid."

_What is that supposed to mean?_

"First aid?" Tim echoed, weakly. And strangely, Tim had the feeling there was something _off_. Why was Bruce’s giving him first ai —

“Oh god," Tim muttered when he lifted the hospital gown. He didn’t have the spleen scar. Or any scars. Not even the scar he got after Damian _stabbed_ him by accident. His body was different too, less muscular and not a hint of all the training he'd gone through with the years. Scrawny, almost as if he was thirteen again and-

"Excuse me?" He asked just as the nurse was about to leave.

"Yes?"

"Why did they," Tim trailed off and licked his lips, not knowing how to approach it. "Why did they shot me? Who shot me? How-"

She looked at him sympathetically.

"The police thinks it was because it had to do with your position within Wayne's industries."

"Position?"

"As Bruce Wayne's secretary," she finished with a nod.

Secretary.

"Mr. Drake?"

His eyes widened.

"Let me call the doctor, and he’ll inform you what happened in more detail, okay?" the nursed said to him with a worried look. "I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

_Secretary._

This was not fine.

Absolutely not fine, at _all._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day! Kudos, bookmarks and comments are loved and appreciated <3


End file.
